Broken Things
by TeddyBear98
Summary: 13-year-old Barry Allen never thought he could relate so much to a shattered drinking glass.


**Author's Note:** Hey guys! I'm back with another Flash one-shot :) While I am definitely working on a multi-chapter Flash story, these little ones are a lot easier to do! But I swear, I'm trying! Anyways, I hope everyone enjoys this little diversion. I'm not really sure how I feel about it. So, help me out! Review!

 **Broken Things**

It was 2:00 in the morning, and the West household was silent - with the exception of the barely audible creaking of the stairs as 13-year-old Barry Allen quietly made his way from his bedroom to the kitchen, not wanting to wake Iris or Joe. After two years of constantly waking up from terrifying nightmares revolving around the murder of his mother, the young teenager had plenty of experience getting up and soundlessly soothing himself. It was an automatic reaction to, after he had calmed down at least a little bit, go down to the kitchen for a glass of water before going back to his room and trying to get back to sleep. But the familiarity of the routine didn't make any of it easier to deal with.

Once successfully down the stairs and in the kitchen, however, Barry found himself not heading to the cabinet where the cups were kept right away. Instead, he wandered over to the sink, turning the cold water handle with a shaky hand. Tonight's dream had been particularly intense, and it was harder than usual to try and push it out of his mind. Harder to try and calm himself. Taking a deep breath, Barry cupped his hands and allowed them to fill with water before splashing it on his face. He needed to be coherent enough to think more clearly, to keep himself calm. And the sudden burst of cold water was enough to shock his tired body, rendering him more awake. With another deep inhale, Barry shut the sink off and shook his head, water droplets flying off. He grabbed a paper towel to dry his wet face and threw it out before finally heading over to the cup cabinet.

It was a little high, and the 13-year-old had to stand on his tip-toes in order to get ahold of the knob and pull it open, reaching for a glass with his still-shaking hands. Barry knew the exact moment that he lost his grip on it, and watched helplessly as it fell to the floor, shattering on impact.

It was this noise that woke Joe.

The cop was a light sleeper; with two kids in the house, one of those being the ever unpredictable Barry Allen, he really had to be. His eyes flew open, and he was up in seconds, checking first Iris' room. When he found her sound asleep, he checked Barry's and was not surprised to find the covers thrown back and the bed empty. He made his way downstairs and to the kitchen, flipping the light on, and found his foster son staring numbly at the broken pieces of glass on the floor. The youngster heard Joe approaching, and looked up at him with an almost dejected look that made Joe's heart ache.

"I - I just wanted a drink," Barry stuttered. "I'm sorry, Joe, I didn't mean to break it."

Joe gave the teenager the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Hey, it's alright. Accidents happen." He gave Barry a pat on the back and walked across the room to grab the broom. When he turned back around, it was to see that the boy had returned to staring down at the broken glass, but now with tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

"Barry?" Joe quickly walked back over to him, the smile from moments ago gone. "Hey, Barry, don't cry. You're not in trouble. I said it was alright."

"No it's not," Barry replied, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Joe frowned. "Bar, why -" he began, but was cut off.

"It's not alright, Joe!" Barry repeated, his voice far louder than it had been the first time. "That cup is broken! And it can never be fixed!" He was sobbing now, the tears streaming endlessly down his cheeks and dripping off of his chin. For a moment, Joe was paralyzed as he watched his foster son falling apart, feeling his heart breaking in his chest; this was not about the broken cup.

"Barry," Joe breathed. He immediately dropped the broom, letting it clatter to the floor beside the shards of glass as he crouched down to be level with him, opening his arms to embrace the broken boy. Barry latched onto Joe like his life depended on it, hugging him with ferocity; Joe held on even tighter. "It's alright, Barry. I've got you, son." He started to rub soothing circles on the young teenager's back with one hand as Barry sobbed into his shoulder.

It took several minutes for Barry's sobs to subside into hiccuping breaths, and even then Joe didn't let him go, wouldn't be the first to pull away, because Barry needed this; he needed to know that Joe was there for him, that he wasn't alone.

Neither of them had been talking, but finally Barry spoke up, his voice back to a whisper. "Joe," he said, his face still buried in the detective's shoulder. "I can't ever be fixed." At those words, Joe felt his heart break all over again. But he also felt a rock hard resolve fall over him, and his reply was fierce.

"Don't you say that, Barry," he said. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again. You hear me? Things can still get better, kiddo." Barry was quiet a few seconds before slowly pulling back from Joe's arms, looking at him now as he desperately tried to take comfort from his foster dad's words. Joe looked back at him, and offered Barry the softest of smiles.

"You are not a cup, Barry Allen," he said, poking Barry's chest with a finger, and Barry managed the smallest of smiles at the odd words. "Your life is not shattered glass." He stood now back to his full height, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Besides, haven't you ever heard of glue?"

Barry blinked up at Joe quizzically, the drying tear tracks on his face catching in the kitchen light and glinting. "Joe, that's stupid," he said. "Who would glue a broken cup back together?"

"Someone just might, Barry. Now, go on back to bed. I'll be right there after I clean this up," he said, motioning to the glass shards that were still scattered on the floor. Barry nodded slowly, casting one more look at the mess before going, leaving Joe alone in the kitchen. With a sigh, Joe picked the broom up off the floor, sweeping the pieces into a neat pile before then sweeping them into the dustpan. He eyed the garbage can in the corner of the room, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to throw the glass away. They were left on the table as he went swiftly back up the stairs and into Barry's room, where he proceeded to stay with the boy until he drifted back off to sleep. It wasn't until much later that he himself would go back to bed.

* * *

When Barry woke up later that morning, he was intent on making it business as usual, on pushing the events of earlier out of his mind. He got out of bed, sneaking past the room of the still-sleeping Iris, and proceeded down to the kitchen to get breakfast. He paused, however, when he noticed what was in the room.

It was the glass that he had dropped, sitting on the kitchen table. Glued back together.

With a surprised expression on his face, Barry moved forward and, as carefully as he could, picked it up, staring at it. It was then that he belatedly noticed the piece of paper stuffed inside. With only a moment's pause, he reached his hand into grab it, unfolding it to reveal a message written in very familiar handwriting.

'Barry,' the note read, 'I would glue a broken cup back together. There are some noticeable cracks, but it's whole again. Broken things can be fixed.'

Barry set the note and the glass down on the table, his breakfast mission forgotten and his eyes glazed over with unshed tears as he stared once more at the glass. And he let a small smile once more cross his lips at Joe's words.

Broken things can be fixed.


End file.
